My MM Romance Goodreads Group free story, “Kiss and Makeup,” is now available (6/30/12)! “Kiss and Makeup,” a fluffy, sexy, tiny-bit-angsty story about a Hollywood makeup artist and the superstar actor he has to transform into an alien warlord. It’s a bit less angsty than my usual, but the sex is explicit, so 18+ only please!
The short story (just shy of 10K words) is based on this terrific prompt by Diane: Ted is a special effects make-up artist who hopes to win an Oscar for his work on a big budget sci-fi movie. He spends four hours each morning transforming action-hero superstar Lenny Golden into an alien warlord. His greatest achievement would be to transform Lenny into his lover before filming ends. Sub-genre: contemporary. Tags: movies; celebrities; Hollywood; film; explicit sex content; makeup artist; Oscar; Academy Awards
Here’s an excerpt to whet your appetite, or just click on the photo or link above to read the complete story.
His slicked fingers glided over the smooth skin and he marveled at the hard muscle beneath. Inch by inch he greased the firm flesh, sliding over peaks and valleys of finely honed abs, into the creases under the pectoral muscles and the deep indentation at the waist. With the grease, the slippery skin caught the light and glittered silver on tan.
“Are you warm enough?” Ted felt suddenly hot in his cotton shirt. Had the air conditioning gone out again?
“I’m good.” The voice was a rich baritone. Warm. Sexy.
“I’m almost done.”
Len let out a slow breath that sounded almost like a sigh, and Ted wondered if the other man felt the same heat. He brushed the thought away.
This is work. Don’t forget that.
Why was it so damn hard to stay focused? He wiped his hands on a towel and studied the slicked chest with satisfaction, then pressed a button on the table to make it pivot at the center until Len was standing upright once again.
“Can I get you something to drink? It’ll be a few hours before you’ll be able to move.”
“Nah, I’m fine. Thanks.”
In his eight years in the business, Ted Aaronson had never been so distracted. He never got distracted. He was the best sci-fi makeup artist around—the go-to guy when the director wanted detail stuff. The most complicated prosthetic work. The cutting-edge designs. But having Len Golden on his table half-naked, his smooth chest the object of his attentions, was almost more than Ted could take.
The guy was stunning. Better in person, Ted thought, than on screen. Reddish-brown hair and deep green eyes, with a strong jaw, high cheekbones, and muscles that wouldn’t quit. Ted imagined what it would be like to unbutton the well-worn jeans and run his hands over the tight globes of Len’s—
“On second thought,” Len said, the tiny lines at the corners of his mouth more visible with his boyish smile, “I think I’d like some water. And maybe I’ll take a leak.”
“Bathrooms are through that door.” Ted gestured to his left. “I’ll get a few bottles. Perrier?”
“Tap is fine.”
Ted nodded and watched Len walk away, watched the perfect ass in the faded Levi’s. He repressed a sigh. Len Golden was the hottest thing to hit the screen in a decade. It didn’t hurt that on top of his to-die-for good looks, the guy could really act.
Ted had met the man ten years before, when they’d both been working summer stock at a theatre in up-state New York. Back then, “Len Golden” was still “Lenny Goldberger,” and Ted was the emo kid nobody looked at twice. Ted remembered Lenny well: a bright-eyed newbie whose only acting credit was a high school production of “How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying.” Len had seemed oblivious to the wide-eyed stares of the actresses and stage crew. He was just a nice guy from Long Island with dreams of singing on Broadway. No talk of Hollywood or of blockbuster action flicks, no Oscar buzz.
Not that Lenny would remember him, thought Ted. Ted Aaronson wasn’t a memorable kind of a guy. At seventeen, he had been the epitome of geekdom, dreaming of a life somewhere beyond the confines of middle-class suburbia. The guy with multiple piercings, the latest of which was a silver bar through his eyebrow. Kohl eyeliner, mesh shirts, tight black jeans, black Converses or army boots.
Ten years later, Ted was the proud recipient of an Oscar nomination for Best Makeup for a big-budget zombie film he’d nearly turned down, and Lenny was the hottest commodity in Hollywood. A “thinking-man’s action hero,” as one of the reviewers had dubbed him. And this new movie just might earn them both an Academy Award.
“Better?” Ted asked as Len sauntered back into the room. He finished the water in the paper cup he was holding and tossed it into the garbage near the makeup table.
“Great. So what’s next?”
“I’ll take a casting of the front of your torso for the body armor. We’ll do your head tomorrow morning and your back in the afternoon, once Tina has the front section ready for me.”
Len nodded and took his place back on the table.
“We’ll start off with you standing up and when the silicone’s
set, I’ll tilt the table and do the plaster on top.”
Ted poured equal amounts of the silicone and hardener into a cup, mixing it until it turned a uniform blue. Then with his fingers, he began to slather the mixture in a thin coating over Len’s chest.
“The release cream I rubbed on you will keep your hairs from sticking to the silicone,” Ted explained, eager to keep his mind off the feel of Len’s body. Talking helped calm the errant twitch of his cock. Well, at least a little.
He certainly wasn’t going to be at his best with constant wood. He even considered using a brush to paint the silicone, figuring it might be less of a turn-on. Some of his colleagues preferred brush to fingers, but Ted had always appreciated the sensual, artistic nature of the process. In high school, he had loved to work in clay, and the connection between his fingers and an actor’s skin always reminded him of sculpting classes in college.
No. You do what you always do. You can jack off all you like tonight, back home, but now you’re going to do your job the way you know you need to do it.
“Cold.” Len laughed in a low rumble that made Ted’s jeans feel tighter still. If that was even remotely possible.
“Don’t move,” Ted warned. He didn’t want to spoil the casting, but he also didn’t want the other man to see the bulge at his crotch. He thanked the gods that he hadn’t tucked his shirt inside his pants.
“Sorry.” Len closed his eyes as Ted continued to cover his chest in the paste, making sure to coat the indentation beneath Ted’s Adam’s apple and slightly farther up.
God, but Len’s body was fucking perfect! His chin was rough with stubble and Ted’s cock jumped again at the prospect of shaving that strong jaw tomorrow before he cast the actor’s face for the prosthetics. Ted imagined licking the base of Len’s neck, feathering bites and kisses up and over his jaw.
It was going to be a long three hours.